Not All Sharks
by Genius-626
Summary: Epilouge. Will Driver make it home? Will Irene accept a man who was just as bad as her husband? T for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: yo…to anyone who may be reading. This is a fantastic movie for reasons I can't fully explain in an author's note. I just saw the movie yesterday and the ending was just too ambiguous to leave alone. It's like the director **_**wanted**_** people to write fan fiction. Anyway, enjoy.**

Not All Sharks

The blood was still flowing from my wound; the pain still eating at my nerves, but I held it in. Taking deep and heavy breaths, I shuffled out of the parking lot and into the elevator. Leaning on the wall for support, I bent down and saw the blood stains of the man I'd killed in front of Irene.

_In front of Irene._

It was all I could do; he would've killed us both. The look on her face was unbearable. It wasn't in horror and it wasn't in shock—it was like she knew I was capable of bashing someone's head in and was almost relieved that she knew the truth. Or maybe it was confusion, knowing me as gentle, quiet, supportive; knowing how much I loved her just how I'd reacted to her husband coming home.

She's been through so much, I shouldn't have even let her enter the elevator, I should've said we'd talk later. But that look…maybe it was best she did see. Maybe…maybe she'll still love me if I tell her it's over. If I get her and Benicio away from here, maybe it can be over. Maybe I can be that father he's always needed. Maybe I can be the husband she's always wanted. Maybe I can be happy without breaking the law.

My blood dripped onto the floor, overlapping with the already stained rug. I'd have to clean that later if I didn't want anyone to get suspicious. That's what I'd done with the blood. The body was still in my apartment. If I didn't get rid of it soon, the rot would no doubt get people's attention. So many things were swimming through my head as I tried to push all distractions away; I needed to focus on one thing.

Making it ten steps to Irene's door.

My left hand was growing tired as it clung to my wound, my right arm extending to the opposite wall for balance when I practically fall out of the elevator. My eyes felt like they were bulging out of my head I was so dizzy, but I knew when I'd stumbled long enough to make it across the hallway when the wall made a sharp angle. I tried knocking, but ended up pounding the door in uneven hits. I don't know how long I waited, but my legs couldn't hold me up any longer. I sank down to my knees with my fist still pressing into the door, my arm flailing out in front of me and onto the floor after the door was hastily opened. I could hear her gasp of surprise, and then her worried voice as she said my name after kneeling down and seeing the blood.

She took the arm I was balancing on and lifted it over her shoulder. I was surprised at how strong she was as she half dragged me to the couch, not seeming to care whether my blood spilled onto the furniture. At that thought, I looked over to the pool of blood that had accumulated in front of the door, my eyes following the trail from the green door all the way to the couch. Suddenly, a fear boiled up in my stomach as I saw Irene run for the supply closet.

"Is Benicio asleep?" I managed to say, my voice hoarse from breathing so heavily for so long. She rounded the hallway and knelt by my side, answering me with a nod. At first, she didn't know where to start. I sat up in an attempt to peel my jacket off, needing her help to lean me comfortably enough on the pillow behind me. She then helped me with my shirt, the blood having stuck to, pain itching and every tug I made at it. I tried to find Irene's eyes, but she was focused on bandaging my wounds, which I was very much grateful for.

My mind was swimming back and forth, in and out. I fought to remain conscious as to not leave Irene with my dead weight. I closed my eyes as to focus, her voice a far away song. She'd ask me if I could lean or move to accommodate the bandages. She'd ask me if I could feel certain touches to know whether my nerves were heightened or dulled from the damage. She'd ask whether I was awake or not, and for her sake, I'd speak instead of nod in case my voice was just as reassuring to her as hers was to me.

When I finally opened my eyes, feeling somewhat cleaner and without the constant touch of her hands, I saw the result of her hard work. I was somehow laying on a blood stained towel now, no blood visible on my skin with gauze heavily wrapped around my waist. I looked at my hands and realized that she must have scrubbed them clean as well, a sponge and bucket on the coffee table. My eyes wondered to the woman kneeling beside me, splotches of red now clinging to her skin and clothing. She looked tired, her eyes red rimmed as if she had been crying. Maybe she had been. I needed to say something to her, but for what seemed like hours, I was lost in her gaze. She seemed to have to same need I did; confirmation that we were both here, in the same place, alive and wanting the other.

I was the first to speak. "Thank you…and I'm sorry."

She stopped me by shaking her head. "Don't be." She paused, wanting to say more, but not knowing where to begin. "Just…please…I can't take this anymore."

"Neither can I." I said, interrupting out of necessity. "I'm done. I…finally have a reason to be."

With that, a small smile almost played on the corners of her lips. It was enough, for now, we both knew. "You need to go to the hospital. I have no idea how hurt you are."

I stifled a groan, not wanting to seem ungrateful. "Ok." I said. "But what about Benicio?"

"I'll call a friend."

Just then, Benicio walked in, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. "I heard talking." Is all he said. He looked at me and froze a moment, then saw his mother and the first aid kit in her lap. I could feel his concern, although he did a very good job in keeping a straight face. He'd probably had to adapt to things like this. I felt guilty for so many things at that moment. For seeing his father's death and being helpless in doing anything about it, for bringing him into this mess in the first place, for only being a burden. One look at Irene and those thoughts vanished. She was grateful for me, I knew it. I had been there when his father wasn't and I would be there for him, now for as long as I lived.

I motioned for Benicio to come, Irene getting up to make the call. He stood in front of me and I firmly took his shoulder. "Mom and I have to go the hospital, but you have to stay."

"Ok." He said quietly. I knew the questions that were plaguing his little head; I knew what he was going through.

"I promise…that everything will be Ok. I'm not leaving. Not ever again."

"Why?" his voice was stronger now.

The question confused me. "Why?" I repeated almost in a whisper. _Because I love you, I want you to be my son, I want you to be happy and have the father you deserve; the life._

"Why are you like my dad? Why are you always in trouble? Why are you always hurt?"

"No, no." I said softly, shaking my head. Reaching up to his face, I wiped away a single tear that left his smoky brown eyes. "Everything's going to be better. This isn't going to happen ever again. I promise."

"You promise?" he repeated, his demeanor becoming stronger as he took my hand and lightly swung it down, holding it in both his small hands.

"Yes." I said, feeling a smile creep up. Then a thought came to me, a memory the two of us shared. "Benicio," I said, bringing his eyes to mine. He looked up, his wide eyed gaze full of trust and satisfaction. "Not all sharks are bad guys."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I apologize for the wait, and I'm really psyched that you guys like my story :) I'm waiting patiently to get the DVD, it's on my Christmas list. Actually, it's the only thing officially on my Christmas list, I don't really want anything else XP Anyway, enjoy. **

Not All Sharks: Chapter 2

Sirens filled the air like fog. I could feel the world growling darker as my senses faded. But even then, the familiar sense of being in a speeding car rushed through my mind and body as the ambulance went over the speed limit to deliver me to the nearest hospital. I tried not to think of the ironic cruelty of the matter; that I, the criminal, was being ushered to good health. I tried not to focus on the regret coursing through me as I held Irene's hand tightly. If I had known something this good could happen to me, I would have never gotten myself into driving. But back when I started, life didn't mean anything. I would eat, sleep, and drive. No one cared about me, no one knew me. So against the law I'd go. It was something I was good at, losing the law. But how long can that last?

The anxiety reached my throat, choking me. I'd never been this worried in my life, but I had to be calm for Irene. As I coughed, I felt her hand tighten on mine. When I stopped, I felt her cold hand on my forehead. There were two other men with us, and if they weren't, I'm sure I would have asked her to kiss me. We'd only kissed once, and for some reason, the thought calmed me. It'd been so long since I've felt loved…

"We're almost there." I heard her say. My eyes were closed, fighting against the urge to moan in pain as we turned a corner. It was the last thing I heard until we were in the ER, shouts firing from all directions and hands all around me. I didn't notice when Irene's hand left mine, but I could somehow see her worried eyes as they wheeled me away.

…

The nurse remembered me from years ago. Apparently, it was an incident she couldn't forget. I was rolled in on a gurney, like tonight, and left my arm and leg were covered in blood. I'd been in an accident on set. I remember talking to her briefly during my recovery. She'd never met an actor.

I said I wasn't an actor. I was a stunt man.

She said it was the same difference, only I was more talented because my life was in danger every time I was on screen.

I thanked her, but did not believe her.

This time, also during my recovery, she asked if I had been in another on set accident. I said no because there was no possible way I could prove it. I was wracking my brain for an answer to cover up what actually happened just in case they asked.

Irene came in just as the nurse walked out. She was in her uniform, so I could safely assume that she'd just left work. Once she was at his side, she sighed out of tentative relief. Her eyes darted to the direction of my wound, then back to my eyes.

"Hi." She said with a small smile.

"Hi." I mirrored. "When can I come home?"

"The doctor said in a day." Her eyes quickly became worried. And I knew why. She wanted to know how this happened. Without really thinking, caressed her face, bringing her closer until we kissed, something I've been waiting for since I got to her apartment.

We parted some time after, both of us enjoying a moment of bliss without potential danger. I loved the affect I have on her; it's the same affect she has on me. For a moment, I couldn't remember anything else; nothing could bother me now.

But reality wasn't something we could postpone forever.

…

Benicio was at a friend's house, and Irene was home alone. Her mind was nowhere near at rest. Everything had happened so fast, and so much of it was a mystery. She knew how Standard died—the FBI agents had given her their last report—but she didn't know why. He was at a heist with one accomplice, who they'd found dead in a hotel. He was shot dead. He was completely unaware, so he died instantly and without pain.

She knew this to be a lie. This was not the whole truth, either. She would have to ask Driver. She had a right to know.

The mystery that was Driver plagued her mind in this solitude. That couldn't possibly be his real name, could it? What if he had multiple identities? His past was an ominous black cloud that haunted her simple bliss. She'd been faithful to her husband for six years now, three of them while he was in jail. He'd been one of the only serious relationships she'd ever been in, and in her experience, all of those relationships were work. Never had she felt so at peace; so in love. Yes, she'd loved Standard, and as much as she hated to admit it, she'd forced herself to love him for Benicio because he deserved two parents; two loving parents. She thought love might make up for their financial situation. Apparently, Standard had his own methods.

Irene's curiosity could not be beat. The hallway seemed to grow longer as she inched her way to Driver's room. She idly rubbed at the key in her hand as she approached the door. For a moment, she wondered if this was wrong. She didn't plan on looking through his stuff. In fact, she didn't really know what she was looking for. Her hands worked faster than her mind could fire questions and confirmations. In seconds, the door was open and she was inside.

It was cold and bland. There was no sign of personalization whatsoever. No pictures on the wall, no television, no radio. Unless he lived somewhere else as well, she could only assume that nothing of the sort mattered to him. Or…it mattered to his enemies. Just how many did he have?

She stepped further inside and found a desk and a lamp. Maps were spread across it, some routes highlighted while others were crossed out.

"Was this your life?" she whispered to herself, turning on the lamp. She looked around now that there was light. She gasped when she turned around, a puddle of blood just next to her. Thinking it was Driver's, she put a hand to her mouth stopping herself from screaming out. One last glance and she couldn't stay. Tonight would be a long night for all of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, I guess with the DVD coming out, more people have been perusing this fandom. Right on :) Thanx to all who have reviewed, you inspire me. I tried to make this chapter longer than the first two due to a few complaints :p Enjoy the update. It's very fluffy, if you like that kind of thing (and I think you do)**

**P.S. if you're wondering why this omniscient and not first person, believe me, I don't know. I just started writing and completely forgot about the perspective that I put the first two chapters in. Apparently, my subconscious thought that this would work better. **

Not All Sharks: Chapter 3

Driver stayed at Irene's for a few obvious reasons. He didn't deny help even when he didn't necessarily need it, but he wanted to, and often. He tried to do a lot of little things on his own so to not feel completely helpless with his injury, but Irene hardly let him. Two weeks of him bed ridden and she supposed that they were both facing new ground on multiple levels, especially when it was her bed he was in. She guessed that he'd never been this injured before by the constant battles he had with himself. She could see it in his eyes when he fought himself to not fight with her in denial to helping him stand or even eat sometimes. Even in pain and restlessness, he was a perfect gentleman. It made him very unique, at least to her. She admittedly loved this about him, this passive stubbornness coupled with his active gratefulness.

Though when she wasn't home—and rarely when she was—he'd struggle to get out of bed, determined to do _something_ on his own, even if it was to just get up. She watched him do this once, in a corner of the kitchen where he couldn't see her. She had to suppress her laughter. Driver—her Driver, the commonly neutral faced and quietly composed man she'd come to know and love—was standing, arm extended, hand clenched to the counter, the other clutching his midsection, with his face scrunched into knots struggling not to make a sound of discomfort. When she finally stepped into his view, he froze. He reminded her of a raccoon with his still slightly bruised eyes. Not even Benicio was so still when his hand was caught in the cookie jar.

Benicio was very happy to have Driver home all the time; it helped him hide his confusion about his father. Both adults were aware that Benicio hadn't known Standard well at all, and now that he was dead, neither knew how their little boy really felt about it. Only Driver knew about the incident Benicio had witnessed in the parking lot. He wanted to talk to him about it, and today was seemingly a good day with Irene at work and it being a school holiday. Lincoln's birthday, apparently.

"Benicio, come here." He said, patting the empty side of the bed.

Benicio was currently in the doorway, two toy cars in his hands, having been pretending that they were flying through the air and bouncing off the walls. He went in and stopped himself from jumping on the bed, remembering about Driver's injuries.

"I want to talk about your father."

After a moment, Benicio replied. "Ok."

"You know he loved you."

"Yeah." The small boy folded his arms, apparently having heard this or something similar from his mother. Benicio wasn't the most talkative kid on the planet, which made it easier for them to relate to each other. But they needed to talk about this.

"Listen to me." Driver said, waiting for eye contact to speak. Benicio looked up after a few wordless seconds. "What your father did, he did for you."

"No he didn't." Benicio retorted. "He wouldn't be dead, then."

Logically, at least a second grader's logic, that was true. Driver could tell he was opening up. A good sign even with a bad topic.

"He didn't want any trouble after you were born. Or after he got out of jail."

"Then what did he do? Why didn't they leave him alone? Mom won't tell me."

"And she shouldn't have to. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"You're not ready."

Benicio was on the verge of tears, but was obviously trying to hold them in. Driver had noticed that he was a boy never willing to cry, a mark of growing up without a father, no doubt. He knew the feeling; the feeling of wanting to be tough for the one person who needed strength in her life—for the one person who did care. In his case, Irene. But with Benicio, he sensed something stronger, something deeper than just the absence of a father figure. It may be the ignorance he pleaded now, the mere fact that he didn't know what was going on around him coupled with a passive desire to both know and move on. He could only imagine the frustration, it having been so long since he was as innocent.

Though he could understand the frustration of not being able to put the feeling into words. That was something else they had in common.

Benicio wanted to argue, but didn't know how. Driver put an arm around the small boy and pulled him closer, coaxing him into an embrace. Luckily, Benicio could lean on Driver's good side and cry on his shoulder. They were like that for a while until Driver convinced him to go to sleep to calm down. He was asleep until Irene came home.

She came in quietly, as always, wondering where Benicio was if not in his own room or the living room, and was met with one of the most precious sights she had ever come to know. Driver looked up to see her leaning on the doorframe, taking them in, the peace welcomed after a hard day's work. They stared only briefly before she walked over and took Benicio from him to place him in his own bed.

When she came back, she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes. She looked at the clock. It was only 7:00.

"Tired?" Driver asked thoughtfully.

She nodded, looking up at him. There had been a question lingering in her mind for a long time now. He could see it in her eyes that there was something she was burning to ask.

"What?" he said.

She hesitated. "Is it…safe…to stay here."

Now he hesitated, knowing the answer. _No. _After a silent moment, "Not for long."

"Then we should move."

He nodded.

"After you're better." She smiled a tired smile. "After you can walk by yourself."

He smiled too. "I can walk." He said under his breath.

Quiet laughter in a small apartment, two people content with soft love and a child to call their own. Life was healing along with Driver's wounds, but a life it still was. They both seemed to know that and accept it, and if they were going to keep it that way, they couldn't stay here.

"Do you have plans tonight?" Driver asked.

Irene shook her head. "No."

"Cause…" he was being shy. It was something she did to him that he couldn't explain. It was something he could easily avoid, but full heartedly chose not to because of the small flutter of joy it gave him. "I know I can't really ask you on a date, or even leave the room…but that doesn't mean I can't ask you to stay the night."

His shyness is almost contagious, but she pushes the urge away. For the past two weeks, she'd been sleeping on the couch out of courtesy. A couple nights, she thought about joining him in bed, but thought it might make him uncomfortable, injury and all. The fact that she was getting an invitation to sleep in her own room was amusing, but well received nonetheless.

She took his hand by way of answering, letting him takes hers and kiss her knuckles. He'd done this a few times before and she couldn't deny her adoration of this man. She scooted closer to him.

"Are you hungry? Because I haven't had dinner yet." She said.

"Yeah, a little."

She smiled, getting up, reluctantly taking her hand away from his. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be here."

After they ate a dinner of a number of different microwaved left-overs from days previous, Irene settled down for an early night, not wanting to do anything else as well as in preparation for an early morning. It was odd, having been married for so long, but not having him home. She was used to sleeping alone by the time he came back. She was used to spending her days only with Benicio and seeing little of her in-laws. Then he came back, ravished her in appreciation and love, and was just as quickly taken away from her again, for good. Tragedy seemed to like to plague her, but with Driver, she felt she could start over.

At times like this, she wanted to do so much more than just kiss him, like they were doing now, but knew better. The time would come, and she was waiting for it patiently, as was he. For once, she wanted to be a little selfish. For years, she'd lived under Standard's protection, did what he wanted, then lived to support their child. With Driver, she felt free. She felt star crossed.

For once, Driver wanted to feel loved. He'd felt his share of agony from a broken home and a reckless job, having tried to hide all emotion in order to keep himself sane.

No more hiding, no more holding back. But they regretted nothing, for peace such as this can only form from the destruction that surrounds them even now.

**Sorry that I don't have the guts to write above a K+ rating. If you want T romance—or god forbid—M, then just say so. T was originally for the first chapter, which wasn't even that bad now that I read it over. I'll try my best because I know you want more—heck, I want more—but I need to wrap it up tonight. Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for making you all wait such a terribly long time. You're all great reviewers and I hate to disappoint. I've been wanting to write this for months, so now that school is finally over, updates will hopefully be a lot more consistent. **

**In this chapter, I'm briefly delving into Driver's past. Please let me know what you think and if I should continue with that aspect of the story. Also if you review, I'd love some feedback on my character consistency and overall tone of the chapter, I'm not sure I'm doing so well. And…this is the first thing I've ever written remotely…um…sensual as this, so I also need to know if that's ok.**

**Oh yeah, and this one's back in Driver's POV. Anyway, enjoy.**

Not All Sharks: Chapter 4

I was sitting in Benicio's room helping him pack for the move. There were a few things he was willing to part with for the sake of a lighter suitcase, but the subject of toys was a completely different matter. Irene had told me that if anyone could convince him to lower his stock of toy cars and action figures, it would be me.

Well, that's gone as expected. We've been at this an hour and we've already packed two bins of toys.

I noticed Irene in the doorway a few minutes before she actually spoke. I'd looked back and smiled, seeing if she had anything to say, but she softly shook her head, content in just watching us. She's been quiet for a few days now, more so than normal. I know she's feeling a number of different emotions at once; loss, happiness, sadness, fear of endings, anticipation of beginnings.

I know how she feels. I need her to know that. But when do I tell her? Talking isn't one of my strong suits, but for her, I'd do anything.

"Can you two go to the grocery store? We need a few things." She said. I got on my feet and nodded, seeing how tired she was, seeing the worry in her eyes. I suppose this was something she could easily hide from Benicio, and maybe even Standard, but she couldn't fool me.

I looked back at Benicio still sitting on his bed, now playing with two action figures he'd dug out from one of the bins.

"You coming?" I asked, implying that if he was coming, he'd need shoes on. He stuck his tongue out at me and dashed into the hallway in search for his sneakers.

I looked back at Irene and placed a hand gently on her forearm. She looked up at me with eyes I knew had tears behind them. We may need to get more groceries, but she also needs a moment alone. I can only respect that. I glanced at my own hand caressing the exposed skin on her arm and wanted more, but knew it was not the right time. Before, all we needed was to be locked in a heated gaze, a touch of the hand, just the knowledge that we were together in the same room. We need much more now, after all that's happened, such small things are still nice, but not at all as reassuring. Is she afraid I'll be taken away from her? Has the change scared her? Is this all just too much for her?

When I think about it, it's almost too much for me. But I've lived too long without this peace. I've found treasure, and I'm going to keep it safe from lethal hands.

"We won't take long." I said quietly. "Unless you want us to."

She almost smiled, and I knew as she shook her head, she knew she could trust me with everything. I let my hand come up to her face and I leaned in to kiss her cheek. Once I did, she pulled away slightly and caught my lips with hers. It was more than chaste, but with no intentions of becoming deeper. It lasted a moment before I pulled back to look at her. I didn't have to tell her we'd talk later because I could tell she already knew.

When Benicio and I got to the grocery store, he picked a cart and waited for me to take it. Once I did, he hopped on the end, like I'd seen him do with Irene. I wondered if he'd done this with Standard, though he may have been too young. I wondered if he was really that comfortable with me to act like this or if he'd do this with just about anyone. He'd lived without a father so long I wondered if he even felt the absence. Or the gain.

I smiled at him, silently grateful that I had a reason to smile.

I don't recognize anyone here, but they obviously found something about us out of the ordinary. Their casual turns of the head and sideways glances were a little too long for me to take complete comfort with, though I knew they were all just curious. They recognized both Benicio and I, but don't know why we're together like this. A little narrow minded. I should know, I was exactly the same way once, some of its regretfully still in me.

This city has always been a little too small for me. I felt stuck as a kid, bound here by parents who didn't want me, friends who used me, and people that needed me. Maybe that's why I couldn't resist the temptation of driving as a kid. I drove everywhere, just to get away from it all. I raced, was a getaway car, got in some deep shit with the authorities, everything. I was a superstar among my peers, though, at least I was in high school. They feared me and needed me all at once. It was called respect back then, now I don't know what the hell it is.

But there's a reason I made my rules. I had to learn from my mistakes if I wanted no strings attached. No guilt. But I don't even remember what I wanted back then. Maybe I never knew.

Blood was never something I wanted on my hands.

"Driver." Benicio said, getting my attention as I reached for a box of cereal.

"Yeah?" I said.

"Why are we moving?"

I kept pushing the cart and taking things off the shelves as I answered, a part of me relieved that he'd asked. When we brought up the move the first time, he'd acted passive about it, no signs of grief, but no signs of excitement either. He seemed completely unfazed, like he'd moved hundreds of times before when the truth was he'd never moved in his life. It worried Irene, which concerned me, but Benicio's smart. Ever since Standard's death, I've noticed that he's been trying to…figure everything out. He wants to know what I know, which I've told him a number of times he's not ready for.

"For a little change. You really want to stay here your entire life?"

"No." He replied. He paused, waiting for eye contact maybe. "Then why does mom not like that we're leaving?"

I almost stopped walking. My eyes darted to another customer just down the aisle. What a great place to have this conversation.

"Where'd you get that idea?" I asked softly, trying to get him to talk lower. He either ignored me or didn't get the message.

"She's sad all the time." He said it as if she's been this way for some time. She probably has been.

"She knows we need to move."

"I thought we wanted to move. Why do we need to?"

I looked at him straight in the eyes then, seeing the mischievousness that I'd always sensed within him staring right back at me. He seemed slightly proud of himself, but not nearly enough to hide the fact that he was worried.

When I didn't answer right away, he continued, this time in a softer voice. I'd stopped walking by then. "Is it because of dad? And you? Are you in trouble?"

I looked around, suddenly on alert. Now I was whispering. "We can't talk here."

"We can't talk anywhere." He whispered back. "I'm not a little kid."

"I know. I know."

He is still a little kid, but all these things that have happened, seeing his dad beaten senseless, being given a bullet by the men responsible, losing his father and seeing me in such bad shape…there was no wonder he wanted to know what the hell he did to deserve all this. He's too young to understand.

For the first time since I've met Benicio, I ignored his questions, all the way up until we checked out and were out the door. Once we were both in the car, I turned around to look at him in the back seat. He looked up at me with big eyes, a little on edge from me not being straight forward with him, and maybe from a few other things. I just needed him to understand.

"You're staying with us?" He asked before I could say anything.

I nodded. "Yes. We're all moving together."

"And you'll live with us and take me to school and eat with us and everything?"

I suppressed a smile. "Yes. I'll do everything people normally do when they move in."

"You'll teach me to drive?"

"In ten years, yeah."

"You'll teach me to multiply?"

"If you need my help, anything."

He got quiet for a second, looking away for a moment out the window, thinking. Then, "Are you going to marry mom?"

Then I got quiet. I knew where he was going with this, completely. Marriage to him probably meant I'd never leave and that he could have a dad again. Or is that what he didn't want?

"If she'll have me." I said quietly. "If you'll let me."

He looked surprised at that. "I don't care." I could hear that playfulness coming back again.

"Oh you don't? What if we got married today?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"What if we never got married?"

He shrugged again.

"What if I go to jail?"

He froze. Bingo.

"Benicio." I said, looking at him straight in the eye, reaching a hand out for his shoulder. "Whether I marry your mother or not, I'm not going anywhere. I want to give you what I never had."

After a second he asked, "What?"

"A family."

…

When we got back, I asked Benicio if he could stay in his room awhile, having seen Irene in the living room with her head in her hands. He either noticed her too or understood from my tone of voice that he was needed in the confines of his own room. He half ran down the hallway while I set the groceries down on the counter before going to Irene.

She wasn't crying now. She either had been while we were out or hadn't started. I sat next to her on the couch and waited for her to say something. It wasn't long until she lifted her head up and looked at me. To my surprise, she smiled a little. Happy to see me? Or hiding something?

She sat up straight and stared at the wall just across from us for a second before turning to me.

"I hardly know you." She said. She put a hand on mine before I could even think to say anything. "But that doesn't matter now, does it?"

I slowly shook my head. "I'll tell you everything—"

"But now's not the time." She finished. I sighed without conscious thought of doing so, finding myself relieved that she felt that way.

Only now when she started to blink away silent tears did I notice the dried tears on her face and the shade of red cornering her eyes. I raised a hand to the tears I'd failed to catch, knowing that she didn't need me for that; sensing the bitter sweet truth that she'd lived for years without anyone caring whether she wept or not. She leaned into my hand for a moment, eyes roaming every inch of the apartment of that she was able to see from here, every old memory that lay in this space coming to life in her overcrowded heart. Her eyes finally met mine, a spark of newness visibly awing her, thieving both of our abilities to speak. I felt her hands on me suddenly and couldn't at all feel my own hands running over her shoulders, to her hips and back. Our lips met finally, and my mind no longer held any control of my next actions. We'd kissed many times before this, but none held such lust. The newness of it all surprised me in the greatest of ways.

All of my questions about her past, all of the confessions about mine, they all washed away with every wave of pleasure that hit me. The feeling of her body so close to mine was like the sun beating down on me when all of the encounters I've ever had with the opposite sex were as cold as a raging ocean in the dead of night. Locked in an intimate conversation of souls, love consuming me like nothing I've ever felt before, the freedom that soared through me took control with ease. I haven't been with a woman in years, purposefully, and I felt the years melting away from time itself. I'd needed to be careful when it came to my job. I had rules for both my job and my social life for a very important reason. It wasn't worth it to get caught up with people if all I had to offer was a getaway car and a man who ran away from everything once he got his money.

It wasn't until I had to give everything up when I realized how much love I had to give. My world is a dark place. Death and pain follow me by the heals, hiding behind the wheels of every car I've ever driven. How had I convinced myself that I could separate Irene from the criminal life I'd made for myself and bask in her sunlight without getting burned? Without threatening her life?

None of that mattered now. She was with me, basking in the glory that is relaxation, release, reflex. My mind spinning, heart pounding and blood pulsing, I couldn't help but wonder if fate had brought us together. Many times in my youth, I questioned the meaning of my life; I questioned why everything had to go wrong. I had so many regrets. Would I have even met Irene if things had been slightly different? Even slightly better?

We guided each other to her room, neither of us wanting to fully separate in order to simply walk there, but for some reason, the distance was too great and our magnetism too powerful. Her bed was not an uncommon place for either of us. After I'd insisted about a week ago—which took me an entire day to work up the nerve—she's slept with me in her bed every night. Most of the time, we were content holding each other in quiet, relishing in the warmth and peace we found together. We talked some nights, sometimes just to share memories or ask light questions with light answers. I always wanted to talk; to tell her the truth about me because she deserved to know, but couldn't bear to darken the mood or give her any more stress and grief that she already possessed. Each night was a fight within to keep all of my secrets hidden, afraid she would reject me if she knew. I needed her to know, but it could wait now. We needed each other tonight.

During my recovery, we were cautious when we reached this point of passion, always stopping when we became dangerously aroused. It happened occasionally.

We wouldn't be stopping anything tonight.

No words were passed between us as we expanded our knowledge of each other. Although this was new ground for both of us, I felt as if we'd been making love for years once we began. I quickly learned what she liked, making her pleasure my priority, loving when she half heatedly protested my worshipping of every inch of her skin. I could feel her heart thumping in her chest when my lips travelled down from her neck to her collarbone, her fingertips lightly grasping the hairs on the back of my neck, her leg bent ever so slightly, bringing me that much closer to her. As the night went on, we remained at a slow pace, something we both later admitted to be very different from past experiences, yet somehow the most intense we've ever had.

In the aftermath of it all, she lay on top of me, hands idly, yet comfortingly roaming my chest. She kissed my neck and breathed in my scent as if it was something to memorize.

Something she might lose.

I held her tightly before I surrendered to sleep, never having felt so loved in my life. But even with this freedom, I can't ignore what I know is coming. I can't ignore my past any longer.

**Please review, constructive criticism would be very helpful :)**


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